


Compass

by WeWillSpockYou



Category: Almost Human
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-07 14:57:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeWillSpockYou/pseuds/WeWillSpockYou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an AU Almost Human piece set in the not too distant past. John Kennex is a Marine wounded in Afghanistan and Dorian is his physical therapist. I am not entirely sure where this idea came from but I could see John in the dress blue uniform, probably as a result of a blurry pic of William Cooper dressed as a Marine that was hung on the wall of his home office in the movie Red.</p><p>The title is inspired by the Lady Antebellum song by the same name, "Let your heart, sweet heart be your compass when you're lost and you should follow it wherever it may go."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Master Sergeant John R. Kennex of the United States Marine Corps hated the god dammed heat of noon-time Kabul, what he hated more than the scorching Afghan sun were Improvised Explosive Devices, or IEDs for short. Hence the reason for this patrol, command had gotten reliable intel stating insurgents would be making their presence felt in this sector of the city. “Fuck me sideways,” John mumbled, “You seein anything back there Griff?” He called out to his rear gunner Griffen Charles.

 

“Nope Sarge, nothin but sand, palm trees and hot chicks in bikinis.” Griff called back with a smile.

 

“What kind of moron do you take me for Private?” John yelled, grinning, “This is South Kabul, not South Beach.” 

 

“All clear Sarge,” Griff yelled back, “and if we hurry we can be back in time for happy hour at Hurricane O’Reilly’s”

 

“Dream on kid,” John laughed, “I could sure go for a cold—“John didn't finish his drink request as the world exploded in blinding light and fire. 

 

@@@@

 

John awoke with a start in the dark, a pain greater than anything he had ever felt in his life was burning up his right leg. He leaned forward feeling the pull of a central line in his chest, raising his right arm and seeing an IV line in his hand and a blood pressure cuff on his upper arm. He managed to reach forward for his right leg wanting to ease the pain, but all he encountered was the flat, cold bed sheet. “What in the blue fuck?” He mumbles. It all comes back to him in a flash, the patrol through the city, the heat, laughing with Griff and the explosion. He can smell the cordite in the air, hear the screams of his men calling for him and begging for mothers half a world away, he can see blood, Griff’s shattered face…That’s when John begins to scream.

 

@@@@

 

“Good morning, Sergeant Kennex.” Nurse Baker sang out as she entered his room, opening the curtains to the afternoon sun and the Washington D.C. skyline. “It’s a big day for you John, after six loooong months with us you are finally going home to the warm South Florida sunshine, boy I wish I was going with you, palm trees and sandy beaches, frosty drinks, yum!” She stopped, waiting for John’s usual terse remark or his loud request that she get her bubbly self the fuck out of his room. John was huddled in the blankets, his back to her, not moving. She raced to his side, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him onto his back. All she saw was crimson and John’s ragged arm, phone clutched in his hand. She yelled for help and grabbed for his arm to staunch the flow of blood which jarred the phone out of his grip. She quickly read the message on the screen:   
Can’t be with half a man… 

 

@@@@

 

“Sergeant Kennex?..... Marine?” Doctor Ryan sighed, “John, I can’t let you out of here until we talk about what happened in Kabul, not to mention that stunt you pulled back in D.C.”

 

John was staring out the window from his wheelchair watching the palm trees sway beneath the hot Miami sun. His back was to the room and the good doctor, who as far as he was concerned could go fuck himself with a chainsaw. “What’s there to say, a bomb detonated, everyone but me was ripped apart and killed…Palmer…Lyons… Ortiz…Griff…” His voice breaking as he remembered the kid’s too big smile and the way he used to follow John around the base like an over-eager puppy. He had wanted to do everything, see everything, which is why he was at the gun that day. John had finally given in to the kid’s request to tag along. 

 

“Four good Marines died and you survived, John. Why do you think that is?”

 

John saw red, his temper igniting in a flash, he took a deep breath-in vain- to try to calm the explosion building inside his brain. “Get out Ryan, get the fuck out.” John roared.

 

Harsh barking and a menacing growl followed John’s outburst as a large German Sheppard bounded into the room, leash trailing behind, fur flying and coming to a skidding stop near John’s chair. The dog licked out its tongue at John’s hand then went on alert, staring down the doctor, growling low in his throat. 

 

“Echo, heel!” A voice called out from down the hall, followed by the slapping sounds of sneakered feet running. “Echo?” The dog yipped happily in response, quickly re-assuming his defensive posture next to John. “It seems you found Sergeant Kennex on your own, didn't you, boy?” The man walked to the dog, treat in hand. “It’s good to see you, Dr. Ryan, sorry to interrupt, but you've gone over time and I have a schedule to keep.”

 

“Good to see you too, Dorian, yeah, he’s all yours.” Taking a step toward John, and then retreating when the dog resumed its growl, he said, “Call if you need me John, my door is always open.”

 

Dorian quietly studied the man in the chair, his posture was stiff, hands gripping the arms of the chair to anchor himself down or to hold on to his temper, Dorian wasn't sure. “Well,” Dorian said, “You’ve met Echo, I’m Dorian, the head of the physical therapy department and I wanted to introduce myself before we have your first session tomorrow. I’m glad to know you, Sergeant.”

 

“Call me John,” Kennex said quietly from the chair, reaching out his hand to rest on Echo’s head.

 

It was a start.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When it's all said and done, you can walk instead of run, 'cause no matter what, you'll never be alone."

It was the same old nightmare; John was hiking in the woods, warm sun filtering through the tree top canopy. He could smell fresh pine needles and heard the mobbing song of blue jays. He knew where he was, where he was going; he was happy. Just as suddenly, he was no longer sure of his next step, he recognized nothing; the sun was gone, as was the birdsong. Raw fear grabbed him, strangling him. John bent over double to try and catch a breath and couldn't, his heart was racing. He began to run blindly through the woods, small branches snapping back in his face, brambles snagging his pants, biting into his hands. Slipping in leaf litter, his legs went out from under him and he landed hard on his back. Thunder cracked loudly and lightning lit up the dark sky as rain began to pour down on him. “I’m not lost,” John screamed into fury of the storm, “I’m not lost. Not-“

 

“LOST!” John screamed into the empty room as he woke up. Sweat was running down his back, down his face and his breathing was labored and heavy. He whipped his head around to assess his location; curtained windows, wheelchair, hospital bed. Safe he thought, I’m safe, I’m safe, safe. Obviously Dr. Ryan was an asshat of the worst sort if he thought a mantra would stop the anxiety that barreled through John like a runaway train. He felt like he was having a heart attack.

 

John laid back down and tried to calm his breathing further with deep, calming breaths, “calming my ass.” John muttered to himself. Today was a BIG DAY, another in a long line of so called big days. It was a BIG DAY to wake up in the field hospital, another BIG DAY to be transferred to the facility in Germany, BIG DAY to come back to the U.S., BIG DAY, BIG DAY… John sighed, throwing both arms over his eyes. The agenda for today’s BIG DAY was his prosthetic leg.

 

He found his thoughts straying back to yesterday’s encounter with Dorian and his dog. Was it pure coincidence that this guy and his dog barreled into his room at the precise moment his temper was about to go nuclear? Only a few more seconds and John would have hurled himself out of the chair in an attempt to rip out Doctor Ryan’s spine. “Fuck, that was close,” John whispered with a small shiver remembering the last time he went nuclear; the restraints, the needle full of drugs, the terrified looks from the nurses. 

 

@@@@

 

John wheeled himself from his room to the therapy room located on the ground level of the hospital. He heard a happy bark as Echo ran to greet him as he wheeled through the doorway. “Hey boy,” John said quietly, running his hands through the dog’s fur. 

 

“Good morning John.” 

 

“Hey Dorian.”

 

“Ready for your big day?”

 

Oh god, not another proponent of the BIG DAY, “What big day?”

 

“We’re going to Disney World, John, no one told you?” If Dorian had blinked he would have missed the small quirk in John’s lips. 

 

“No teacups, man, those fuckers make me puke.”

 

Dorian laughed, “Come on John, let’s meet your leg.”

 

John shook his head and wheeled along behind Dorian to a large table by the windows, Echo trailing dutifully behind them. 

 

“Here it is John, isn't it a beauty?” Dorian held up the leg which had a sneaker on the end. “It’s like getting the keys to your first car, don’t you think?”

 

“The keys to my first car?” John was puzzled, what the hell was this guy talking about?

 

“Freedom, John, this leg is freedom.”

 

John stared first at the leg and then at Dorian. He remembered the day his father has tossed him the keys to that old Thunderbird, remembered the feel of the wind in his hair and all the possibilities that stretched out before him on the open road. “Freedom,” John whispered. 

 

“Can I show you how it works?”

 

John snapped out of his memory and simply nodded.

 

Dorian walked over to John, kneeling down in front of the wheelchair. Dorian’s hands lightly brushed John’s leg as he moved John’s shorts aside to get at the stump and socket of the leg. He hooked the leg up to the socket. “Did you see how I did that, John?”

 

“Yeah, got it.” John could still feel his skin tingle where Dorian had placed his hand. Dorian touched him as if he were still a whole man, as if what was left of his leg wasn’t ugly or repulsive. 

 

Dorian unhooked the leg and handed it to John, “Great! Now you try.”

 

John practiced with the leg taking it off, putting it on again. Trying it with his eyes closed in case he needed to attach the leg in the dark, in case he needed to escape. 

 

“The most important thing you need to remember John, is that we are a team here.”

 

“A team?” John asked dubiously.

 

“Yup, a team, what’s the first thing that teammates learn?”

 

John stared at Dorian blankly.

 

“Trust John, they learn to trust each other. It’s very important that you tell me if the leg bothers you at all. If there are any pressure points that form, irritated skin, things like that. I have to know I can trust you to tell me these things. Can I trust you, John?”

 

John was at a loss for words. Did Dorian know what he was asking? What a failure John was? The last time anyone had trusted him, they ended up dead, blown up, ripped apart on some God-forsaken highway in an even more God-forsaken land. Four god dammed flag draped coffins stood as a testament to what happens to men who trusted him. John swallowed hard.  


 

Dorian could see the struggle in the other man, could see his inner turmoil flash to the surface, could see John’s demon wrestle, win. Come on, man he thought, fight back.  


 

“Yeah, Dorian, you can trust me.”  


 

“Now I guess the big question is can you trust me in return? Can you trust that I may know what’s best for you right now? Can you trust that I am here for you no matter what, no matter when?”  


 

John felt tears start in the back of his eyes. He had nothing, no one, just himself and that wasn't much these days; just a big ball of three-limbed hate. Dorian offered him a lifeline; a connection. John was a lot of things, stubborn, angry, afraid, but his aunt didn't raise a fool. “Yeah Dorian, I trust you.”

 

“Okay,” he nodded, “okay, let’s start.”

 

Dorian walked toward John, stopping in front of the wheelchair and reaching both hands out.

 

John arched an eyebrow, “Seriously man?”

 

“Seriously John, come on, take my hands. You know you want to. I can see it in your eyes.”

 

“Maybe you need glasses then.”

 

“Nope, perfect 20/20 vision” 

 

Only willing to go so far, John reached out one hand to Dorian, and levered himself up with the other.

 

Dorian grabbed his hand and pulled him up to a one-legged stand. “John, you know this is only gonna work when you put your other foot down.”

 

John looked down into Dorian’s eyes, they were so blue, so bright, alive. Why hadn't he noticed how vivid the color was before? He began to tip forward and flailing, grabbed for Dorian’s shoulder. “I’m safe, I’m safe, I’m safe.” John whispered making solid contact.

 

“That’s right, John you’re safe, I've got you and I’m not letting go.”

 

John took a deep breath and looked down at his legs, one metal, one flesh and blood, both feet on the floor. He was standing, Tears were starting in his eyes and even his furious blinking wouldn't hold them back.

 

Dorian studied John. He could see fear in his eyes slowly crowded out by wonder and relief that he was once again upright under his own power. Without giving it a second thought, he reached up and wiped away stray tears with his thumbs, leaving his hands on John’s face. “Ready to try this on your own, John? 

 

John just nodded, incapable of speech. He took one hand off Dorian’s shoulder and slipped his other hand free of Dorian’s.

 

Dorian patted the back of John’s head with one hand and took one step backward.

 

He was standing on his own. Echo let out a happy bark and walked up to stand next to John brushing his head against John’s hand. John rubbed the dog’s ears. 

 

“How about trying one step John? Remember to swing the leg forward from the thigh and put your weight on the ball of your foot.”

 

“Weight on the ball, got it,” John said and took a step forward, arms outstretched. 

 

“Great, John, great job, again, try one more.” Dorian said.

 

John tried the step again and miscalculated his weight, he pin-wheeled his arms and crashed to the floor. Dorian stayed where he was, not making a move to help, not knowing how John would take his offer of help.

 

“Fuck,” John whispered to the floor. Echo trotted over to him, licked his hand and retreated to Dorian’s side. John pushed himself up with his powerful arms and pulled his left knee under him, in something of a starters crouch like runners assume before a race starts. He looked up at Dorian and reached out a hand.

 

There was determination in John’s eyes, Dorian noticed as he reached out to help John to his feet and they tried again. 

 

John couldn't go more than a step or two without crashing back to the floor. Dorian could see frustration and anger rising in the other man and knew what the problem was. John was over thinking this, he needed to let go and just let his body feel how to step again. Helping John back to his feet again, Dorian asked, “Why did you become a Marine, John?”

 

John stepped forward as he considered the question, “September 11th, man,” he said, stepping again. I was back home in Kentucky on my Aunt’s farm,” Step, “I was in the training circle with a new horse when my aunt came out of the house yelling for me and my dad to come inside.” Step, “When we walked in I could see the Towers burning, saw the first one fall.” Step, “I remembered thinking this was the moment when my life would change forever.” Step, step, “The next morning, when we were mucking out stalls, I told my father I was going to join the Marines.” Step, step, step, “He just nodded and said, ‘I’m proud of you, Johnny.’” Step, step, step, “I remember that was the first time my father ever told me he was proud of me.”

 

Dorian kept stepping backward as John stepped forward. He marveled at John’s story, deciding to change the course of his life by enlisting in the Marines, the courage it took to take that step and fight for his country, to not allow terror to win. “I’m proud of you too, John.”

 

Looking up at Dorian, he could see the other man’s brilliant smile, “You’re proud that I joined the Corps?”

 

Dorian laughed, “Yeah, that too, but look where you are.”

 

John turned his head to the side and saw he was completely across the room. He smiled softly. 

 

Dorian slapped the middle of John’s chest, “Real proud of you man, now how about a beer to celebrate?”

 

“It’s 10 A.M.”

 

“Yeah, but it’s 5 o’clock somewhere.”

 

John grinned, nodding his head.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Forgot directions on your way, Don't close your eyes don't be afraid"

The next month passed quickly and quietly. John was in the therapy room every morning with Dorian working with the prosthetic leg. They worked on balance, taking larger steps and tiny leaps and began to forge a friendship. Thanks to Dorian’s repeated suggestions, nagging, John called it, he even found the courage within himself to knock on Doctor Ryan’s door.

 

“Hey Doc, you gotta sec for me?” John asked, wringing his hands together.

 

“Sure John, come in, shut the door and have a seat.”

 

John sat in a chair in front of the doctor’s desk. “Kabul was my fault,” he blurted out. “I shouldn't have taken the kid with me.”

 

“Was Private Charles properly trained in the use of the rear gun, John.”

 

“Yeah, man, kid was solid.”

 

“He was a well trained Marine, yeah?”

 

“Fuck, yeah, of course he was. What a stupid fuckin question.”

 

“Was he prepared to die for his country, John?” 

 

John could feel his heart stop beating in his chest, eyes growing wide, he struggled for his next breath. He knew the answer to this question, knew why the doctor had asked this question. He couldn't bear to say the words, so he just nodded his head.

 

“All Marines are prepared to die for their country and each other, aren't they John?”

 

He nodded, felt tears running down his face, he whispered, “Semper Fi.”

 

“Whose fault was the explosion, John?”

 

“It was my damn fault.” John said.

 

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Marine, Whose fuckin fault was the explosion?”

 

“Fuckin insurgents, god-dammed motherfuckin insurgents.” John shouted, his heart in his throat, tears streaming down his face.

 

Doctor Ryan grabbed the box of tissues off his desk and walked around to the chair next to John, he sat down and offered the box to John. “Damn straight John. Feels good to finally say it out loud, doesn't it?”

 

John nodded, too busy mopping his face to speak.

 

“Now tell me about the suicide attempt.” The doctor said gently, resting his hand on John’s shoulder.

 

“Beth left me, said she didn't want no half man.” John took a shuddering breath. “Dad died when I was on my first tour in Kabul, Aunt Liv died and the horse farm was sold to pay back taxes while I was half a world away on my second tour in Afghanistan. Beth was all I had left.” 

 

“She was your girlfriend?”

 

“Wife,” John whispered, “She hated the idea of me joining the Marines, she thought I was being selfish, can you fuckin believe that? I was selfish for wanting to serve my country.” John sighed, “she was beautiful, liked to surround herself with beautiful things. Guess a fuckin cripple on a metal leg went against her sense of style.” John managed a bitter laugh. “She divorced me and took everything. All I got to keep was my name.”

 

“So she was worth dying for?”

 

“Well she sure as fuck wasn't worth livin for.”

 

“What about now? What do you live for now, John?”

 

“’M fucked if I know.”

 

@@@@

 

“Dorian, you here?” John called out as he walked into the PT room. He heard Echo bark and the sound of the dog’s nails clicking on the floor as he raced to John.  
“In my office, John,” Dorian called out.

 

John hated Dorian’s office, it was filled with prosthetics in various stages of repair and construction. It reminded John of what Dr. Frankenstein’s office would look like today. “Well, I did it,” John said, throwing himself into the chair near Dorian’s desk.

 

“Did what?”

 

“Spoke to Ryan.”

 

“About what, the Dolphins chances against the Patriots this weekend?”

 

“About Kabul and the other thing.” John’s skin felt prickly and he started to sweat.

 

“Let’s walk outside John.”

 

“Dorian, I don’t want-“

 

“Outside, now, John,” Dorian interrupted. 

 

“People stare Dorian, you know I hate that shit.”

 

“Did you ever think people are staring at your wide shoulders and your pretty eyes?”

 

“There you go, confusing yourself with me again.”

 

“You think I have pretty eyes, John?”

 

“Fine we’ll walk outside, Dr. Frankenstein.” John muttered.

 

@@@@

 

“So what brought this on?” Dorian asked as they walked side by side down the garden path.

 

“Ryan needs to sign off on me before I can go home.”

 

“John, this is VA hospital, not a psychiatric ward, you can leave whenever you like.”

 

John stopped walking, and started wringing his hands. Dorian barely caught a whispered, “I’m safe.”

 

Dorian walked back to John. He reached out his hands and wrapped them around John’s, holding on tight. “Do you think maybe it’s time to tell me what ‘the other thing’ is instead of just calling it ‘the other thing’?” He could feel John tighten his fingers closer together, could feel John twisting his fingers as much as Dorian’s grip would allow.

 

“Can’t tell you. I tell you and you walk away, I won’t survive it, I won’t, you’re all I have, I can’t, I can’t lose you too,” John rambled, his voice speeding up, fingers twisting faster, tighter, eyes screwed shut. 

 

Stepping closer to John, Dorian whispered, “Breathe John, just breathe.” He started untangling John’s mangled hands as he continued to whisper. “I've got you, just breathe. There isn't anything you can tell me that would make me walk away. I promise.” Dorian linked their fingers together and gave John a light squeeze with his own fingers. He carefully walked John over to a nearby bench and sat down with him, their hands still joined. “Tell me John.” 

 

“B-back in DC, when the doctors were doing the reconstruction of my leg, my wife kept promising to fly up and visit me. I hadn't seen her since I had deployed for that last tour. She kept makin excuse after excuse, but she never came.” John took a deep breath and squeezed Dorian’s hands a little harder, “On I the day I was scheduled to be released to come down here, she sent a text message.” 

 

“What did it say John?” Dorian knew what the message said, had seen it a hundred, no a thousand times. Men who sacrificed themselves for their country and the women who walked away from the wounded soldiers they had sworn to love for better or worse. 

 

“Said, she couldn't be with a broken man, she wanted a divorce, she had never loved me, just wanted Aunt Liv’s horse farm and now that was gone…” John broke off into loud uncontrolled sobs.

 

Dorian untangled their hands and wrapped his arms around John, pulling him close. He rubbed John’s back with one hand and stroked his head with the other. John’s head was nestled on Dorian’s shoulder, his arms wrapped around Dorian’s hips, “You’re safe John, I have you.” Dorian kept repeating this over and over; a mantra of his own making.

 

John fought for control of himself. He realized he wasn't crying for that sorry relationship or the rotten bitch he had married, but was crying for himself, for all that he lost, for what he still had to lose. There was more to tell, the worst part, the part that would cause Dorian to push John out of his arms and walk away. He took a deep breath, could smell Dorian’s spicy aftershave, he never wanted to leave the cocoon of his friend’s arms. “I cut myself” he whispered, muscles rigid, his arms tightening around Dorian. He was waiting for the blow to fall. Waiting for Dorian to shove away, to tell him how worthless he was, how John didn't deserve to shine his shoes.

 

Dorian knew this too, had read John’s file, had seen the angry red scar on John’s arm, regardless of this knowledge, his heart was still broken for the man he held in his arms. He kissed John’s temple and whispered, “I know John.”

 

He couldn't possibly have heard that right. He picked his head off Dorian’s shoulder to look his friend in the eyes. Dorian’s sky blue eyes were filled with tears, but they were steady on his own. “You know what?” He asked, incredulous.

 

“I know that you sharpened your breakfast spoon into a knife and sliced your left arm open, that you almost bled to death, John.”

 

“I should be an inmate at a puzzle factory Dorian, not here with you. And how did you know that anyway?” 

 

“It’s in your medical file John. What the file didn't tell me was why and since you filled in the details for me, I’ll just ask why you think you couldn't tell me?”

 

John moved his head down, wanted his head back on Dorian’s shoulder, but Dorian’s hands stopped him, “Tell me, please John.”

 

“Didn't think you would want such a worthless friend.”

 

Dorian smacked John in the back of the head.

 

“Hey, what the fuck, man?”

 

“Sorry I didn't hear you right, what did you say?”

 

“That you wouldn't want such a worth-“ 

 

Dorian smacked John again, “hey, stop hitting me.”

 

“Then stop saying that.”

 

“Saying what?” Smack.

 

“Ow, god dammit stop!” John snorted.

 

“Are you laughing?”

 

“Pfffttt, no.”

 

“Don’t make me hit you again, man. Are you laughing?”

 

“Yeah, I think so.”

 

“Bout damn time.” Dorian said. 

 

“There’s one more thing,” John said, straightening away from Dorian and standing up.

 

“What?”

 

“Doctor Ryan signed off on my release. I can go home whenever I want.”

 

“John, that’s great, but why are backing away from me?”

 

“So I don’t get smacked again.”

 

“Why would I smack you?”

 

“Really, do you really want to walk that road again, Dorian?”

 

“Why would I smack you?”

 

“Well about going home…”

 

“What about it?”

 

“Well I don’t exactly have one.”

 

“What?” Dorian said, standing up.

 

“I don’t have a place to stay.” John yelled, while bringing up his arms to shield his face.

 

“Wait, what?”

 

“Beth was supposed to arrange housing and with her gone, I guess it just slipped my mind.”

 

“Slipped your mind John? Forgetting toilet paper at the market slips your mind, but forgetting a house??”

 

“No worries, I’ll just crash at a hotel for now.”

 

“No you won’t John.”

 

“What you think hotels are too good for me? Afraid I’ll pee on the rug or something?”

 

“You’re coming home with me.”

 

“I am?”

 

“You are.”

 

“Okay.” John reached over and smacked Dorian on the back of the head.

 

“Ow, man, what was that for?”

 

“For kissing me, you haven’t even bought me dinner yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS! I thought we would have gotten to the smut by now....these two have a story to tell and they won't let me skim over the details!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Yeah it's been a bumpy road, Roller coasters high and low."

Dorian bought dinner, a large pizza piled high with meat and cheese. They sat on the deep leather sofa in Dorian’s living room, watching ESPN on mute. “Are you sure you don’t mind sleeping on the couch tonight, John? I can have the other bed delivered from storage tomorrow.”

 

“Yeah, man, this is fine. Why is the other bed in storage?”

 

“Didn't need it, I guess.” Dorian mumbled.

 

“Dorian, the spare room is empty, I-“

 

“Drop it, John,” Dorian warned, “Just drop it, okay?”

 

“We got any more beer?” John asked, standing up.

 

“Yeah, I’ll get it, stay here.”

 

Dorian was gone longer than necessary and when he came back he passed John the bottle without looking at him. They spent the rest of the night in an uneasy silence, watching a ball game neither cared about.

 

@@@@

 

Echo’s sharp bark woke Dorian, it was still dark, only 3:32 A.M. “What is it boy, what’s wr-“ 

 

“I’M NOT LOST” John screamed.

 

Dorian raced from his bedroom to where John lay on the couch flailing and screaming. Dorian grabbed John’s hands and sat on the edge of the couch. “John, you’re safe.” Dorian said, letting go of John’s hands to give his shoulders a small shake.

 

John was locked in the grip of the nightmare, could feel himself shake with the thunder. “Not lost, not lost.”

 

Dorian shook John’s shoulder harder, as he lightly tapped John’s face, “Come on man, wake up.”

 

Taking a huge gulp of air, John’s eyes flew open, they were darting back and forth as John searched in vain through the darkness to identify where he was.

 

“You’re safe man, I've got you.” Dorian said.

 

“Dorian?” John panted.

 

“Right here man.” 

 

John threw his arms around Dorian and held on. He fought to control his breathing and burrowed his head into Dorian’s neck.

 

Dorian wrapped John tightly in his arms, could feel the other man trembling and fighting to control the panic coursing through his system. Dorian started running a hand through John’s hair. He noticed how silky and warm it felt on his fingers. It felt good to hold John like this…felt right somehow. “Hold it together man,” he thought to himself. Dorian would give anything to change the circumstances that brought John into his arms, but now that John was here, he was just going to hold on.

 

“Don’t leave, don’t go, please stay,” John mumbled, breathlessly.

 

“I’m not going anywhere John, just move back a bit” Dorian said as he swung his legs up on the couch and laid back. He pulled John forward to lie on his chest. “How’s that?” Dorian whispered into John’s hair.

 

“Safe,” John whispered, “I’m safe.”

 

@@@@

 

When John opened his eyes the next morning he was struck by several thoughts at once, first and by no means least was that he was sprawled on Dorian’s chest, his left arm was under the pillow and under Dorian’s head, while his right arm was curled around Dorian’s chest, his hand nestled in the curve of Dorian’s neck and shoulder. He could hear the other man’s heartbeat under his ear, slow and steady. He also noticed a similar rhythm to his own heart. John couldn't remember the last time he had woken up without the sound of his heart pounding a frantic beat in his ears. John began to lightly stroke his fingers across Dorian’s warm skin.

 

Dorian sighed as John’s fingers danced across his neck, he could feel the rough texture of his fingers, could feel their strength. He wrapped his arms more tightly around John and turned to gently kiss his forehead. “Good morning,” Dorian mumbled.

 

John smiled under Dorian’s kiss. “Guess I had a bit of rough night, huh?” 

 

“Are they always that bad John?”

 

“Yeah, pretty much, it’s always the same…” John stopped. He moved himself backward, away from Dorian so he could look into his friend’s eyes, a look of wonder crossing his face.

 

“What is it, John?”

 

“This one was different,” he whispered, “I’m walking through the woods and all of a sudden a storm whips up and I lose my way, lightning and thunder are crashing all around me.”

 

“So what was different this time?”

 

“Just before I woke up, the sun came back out and I could see my way home.”

 

@@@@

 

“While I’m at the storage locker, would you just run the vacuum over the floor in the spare room?”

 

“Yeah, man, are you sure you don’t want me to come and lend a hand?”

 

“No, I got this, stuff isn't too heavy. If you finish before I’m back, why don’t you start a grocery list, we’ll go shopping later.” Dorian said, as he walked up to John, gently squeezing his hand. “Be back soon.”

 

John had never considered himself a thinking man, he had always been a man of action, but this situation with Dorian wouldn't leave his thoughts. It had been an easy morning; Dorian had gotten up to take Echo out and John rummaged around the kitchen looking for breakfast fixings. Neither man mentioned how they had woken up tangled in each other’s arms. It had been a long time since John had woken up tangled in anyone’s arms and he would have been lying to himself if he said it hadn't felt good, felt like that was where he belonged. The other thing neither man mentioned was the erection John was sporting after Dorian kissed him. He didn't know how to feel about that…Being a man of action, John had had plenty of erections in his life, however, this was the first one ever brought on by another man’s touch. He thought about Dorian’s’ smooth warm skin under his fingers and the way his moist lips had felt against John’s skin. “Shit,” John mumbled, reaching a hand into his pants to rearrange his second Dorian inspired erection of the day. “Now where the hell is that vacuum?”

 

Another thought stuck in John’s mind was the curious way Dorian had acted last night when he asked why the spare room was empty. Dorian had always been easygoing, quick with a smile, but last night, Dorian transformed right before his eyes. His eyes had taken on a hard gleam, the line of his mouth grim. “Why?” he wondered. 

 

John walked to the closet and opened the door. Empty hangers were scattered on the closet floor like someone had just thrown them back inside. He picked them up hung them on the rail. He raised his hand to the closet shelf and felt along its surface to see if anything was left behind. His fingers hit against something solid which he scraped his fingers against to trying to find purchase. John managed to get the box to the edge of the shelf and pulled it down. The top was dusty, like it had been on the shelf, discarded for some time. John wondered for a moment if he should open the box or just leave it for Dorian, but his curiosity got the best of him and he opened it up. “Well fuck me blue,” John whistled. He was breathless at what he saw, pinned to velvet inside the box was a Distinguished Service Cross and a Purple Heart. Had Dorian been in the Army? The Service Cross was one step below the Medal of Honor and the United States government didn't just give these out to anyone. This was a combat medal awarded to those who served with extreme gallantry in battle. 

 

Since the shelf was above John’s head he wondered if there was anything else up there he couldn't reach. He ran into the kitchen and grabbed one of the kitchen chairs, brought it back into the bedroom and climbed up for a closer look at the shelf. At the furthest point back on the shelf was a leather bound folder, the kind that holds college diplomas, John reached forward and grabbed it. He opened it up to find a picture of a radiantly happy younger Dorian holding an equally happy little girl. He flipped the picture over and written on the back was Lizzie, age 6, August 1992. John quickly did the math in his head; the child would be fifteen now. Was this a daughter, a niece, who?

 

John set the picture aside to look at the diploma inside the folder. It was the certificate for the Service Cross awarded to Dorian M. Anderson. This couldn't be…his friend; his Dorian couldn't be THAT Dorian Anderson, could he? John’s thoughts were interrupted by the door bursting open and Dorian calling out his name. “In here,” John yelled as he stuck the items back up on the high shelf. 

 

Dorian and another man walked into the bedroom carrying different parts of the bed frame. “John this is David from next door, David, this is John Kennex.”  
“Nice to meet ya,” John said.

 

“Likewise,” David said as he knelt to help Dorian assemble the bed. 

 

When that task was finished, both men strolled out and then returned with the mattress and box spring. “Almost done,” Dorian said, walking out of the room again, later returning with a small dresser. “Thanks man,” Dorian said to David, “Come on over on Sunday, we’ll have the Dolphins game on and maybe grill up some burgers.”

 

“Sounds good, nice to meet you John.” David said as he left the house.

 

“What do you think?” Dorian asked.

 

“This is great man, really great.”

 

There are sheets in the linen closet, I’ll grab them.” Dorian said, walking away. “Hey,” he called from the hallway, “Did you get started on that shopping list?”

 

“Naw, I was waiting for you to get back, thought we would do it together.”

 

“Okay, we need to get you some pillows and some clothes too; you didn't bring much with you.”

 

“I didn't have much to bring. Wife threw the rest of my clothes and shit out when the divorce was final.”

 

“Stupid bitch.” Dorian muttered under his breath.

 

Once the bed was made both men went into the kitchen and started making a grocery list for the week. They agreed on salad fixings, steak and beer. John disagreed on potatoes. “How can you hate potatoes, man?” Dorian asked laughing, “Aren't you Irish? I've never heard of an Irishman hating potatoes.”

 

“Well this one does!” John grinned.

 

@@@@

 

Their afternoon of shopping was a success. Dorian insisted on paying for groceries, John paid for his clothes and they argued over who paid for lunch with John eventually winning the battle. He admittedly fought dirty, but hey, if you can’t kiss your best friend in public, who can you kiss? Dorian was stunned silent by John’s peck on the cheek. “Dammit man, if I had known all it would take to shut you up was a kiss, I would have done it weeks ago.” 

 

All Dorian could do was smile back.

 

It took both men four trips to the truck to unload all of the groceries and clothes John bought. Dorian headed to the kitchen to put the food away and John went into his room to deal with his clothes. When Dorian was finished with the groceries he came into John’s room to help out. 

 

“Dorian,” John said carefully, “There’s something I need to show you.”

 

Not liking the odd tone in John’s voice, Dorian asked, “What is it John?”

 

John slipped his hands into the pocket of his jeans and rocked backward on his heels. “I was cleaning up in the closet while you were gone and found this stuff tucked into the back of the shelf.” John reached up and grabbed the leather folder and the medal box. He sat next to Dorian on the bed and handed Dorian what he had found.

 

“Did you open these things, John?” Dorian asked, his skin turning a sickly grey.

 

“Yeah man I did,” John said, reaching out and covering Dorian’s hands with his own.

 

Dorian threw John’s hands off and stood up, “You had no fucking right to go through my things, invade my privacy like this John, no fuckin right.”

 

“Oh no?” John challenged, “You were the one spewing all that bullshit about TRUST and teamwork and how there wasn't anything I couldn't tell you and I fell for that fuckin shit man. I told you EVERYTHING! About my fuckin divorce, about trying to off myself and fuckin meanwhile, you neglect to tell me that you were an Army Ranger? A fuckin Ranger Dorian, and not just any Ranger, NO, you are the THE Ranger, hero of the battle of Baghdad. Are you fucking kidding me?” John stopped and drew and unsteady breath, “You couldn't even tell me you had a daughter.”

 

Dorian stared up at him, eyes wide. “Lizzie?” he whispered, “How do you know about Lizzie?”

 

“Open the folder.” 

 

Dorian did and out spilled a picture of he and Lizzie, twin smiles staring back at him.

 

“This was her room and these are her things, aren't they Dorian? What happened to her, where is she?”

 

Dorian put the picture back into folder, stood and walked out of the room, not sparing John a backward glance. A few moments later John heard Dorian’s bedroom door click softly shut.

 

“Dammit Dorian, I’m sorry.” John whispered to an empty room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with this guys. I still don't know where this is coming from. John wants me to hurry up and get to the good stuff but Dorian needs you know the whole story.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You wanna give up 'cause it's dark, We're really not that far apart."

It was getting dark out. John had long ago finished putting away his things but wondered if he should have bothered. Would Dorian kick him out after this? As John had walked through the store grabbing stacks of jeans, shirts and shorts, Dorian joked that he looked like he was buying out the store. John smiled at the memory and thought the only thing he hadn't bought was a suitcase. 

 

He walked into the kitchen and grabbed the steaks out of the fridge and quickly mixed a marinade. John loved to cook, it was calming, but it wasn't doing much at the moment to still the vicious anxiety attack barreling through his system. Next he pulled out all the salad fixings and sliced and diced the vegetables. Not feeling any better when the salad was done, he walked outside and fired up the grill.

 

When the steaks were done, John grabbed the TV tray next to the refrigerator and made up a plate for Dorian. He walked back outside and picked a bright red hibiscus bloom from the shrub and then placed it on the tray. Grabbing the notebook and a pen from across the table, John wrote with an unsteady hand. He folded the note and stuck it under the flower, picked up the tray and walked with it to Dorian’s door. He knocked softly and got no response. “Fuck it,” he whispered and opened the door. The room was pitch-black and he could see Dorian sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to the door. “I brought you dinner. I uhmmm, know you wanted a potato with this, but I don’t know how to make them. Crazy, huh?” John sighed, “I’ll just leave this here.” John said setting the tray on Dorian’s desk and quietly slipped out of the room.

 

Dorian wiped his face for what felt like the hundredth time that day. His eyes felt sticky and gritty and his head was pounding. He walked into the bathroom and grabbed the Tylenol and walked back to his desk. He turned on the desk lamp and squinted at the light. He saw the steak and salad, three bottles of salad dressing, a bottle of beer and the flower. He picked up the bloom and ran his finger along its velvety petals. That was when he saw the note. He picked it up and unfolded it:

 

I’m worried about you, please eat something.   
There isn't anything you can’t tell me.  
I've got you. You’re safe.  
-J

 

Dorian sighed, tears starting to fall again.

 

@@@@

 

John couldn't sleep. Dorian still hadn't come out of his room, not even to take care of Echo’s dinner. John did the best he could but still felt like he’d given the dog too much, especially when he tossed his half eaten steak into the dog’s bowl. He was too nervous to eat. Fuck, he wasn't nervous, he was scared, terrified would have been a better description if he’d stopped to examine his feelings more closely. 

 

Echo spent the night going back and forth between sitting at John’s knee, his head resting on John’s thigh and sitting in front of Dorian’s bedroom door, whining. Finally when John thought he could sleep, he nickered softly at the dog who followed John into his room. He tossed and turned for what felt like hours before falling into a restless, nightmare plagued sleep.

 

Furious scratching and barking at Dorian’s bedroom door woke him at 5:18 A.M. Without hesitating, he raced to John’s side.   
John was trapped in the forest again, but this time he was snowed in, unable to move. It was a blizzard, white out conditions, he couldn't see anything, could only hear the scream of the wind, all he felt was numb. He knew he would die here alone and frozen.

 

When Dorian got to John’s side he was cocooned in the bed sheet, arms pinned to his side. He was screaming incoherent nonsense, his voice sounding hoarse. Dorian grabbed at the sheet and shouted John’s name. “Dammit John, wake up,” Dorian yelled, leaving off from untangling the sheet, and climbing into bed behind John, pulling him tight against Dorian’s chest.

 

John finally snapped awake, assessed his situation, felt warm arms holding him, “Dorian?” John whispered.

 

“I’m here John.”

 

“Trapped in the snow, no way out, couldn't move, frozen,” He was breathing fast and hard.

 

“You’re safe now, this is Miami, it never snows here.”

 

“So cold, without you,” John whimpered.

 

Dorian was hit with another wave of guilt, this one so strong it caused physical pain. Dorian started to pull back from John. “Don’t go,” John pleaded.  
“I’ll be right back.” He said, easing out of bed and walking toward the kitchen.

 

John could hear glass clinking as Dorian rummaged around in the kitchen. He came back a few moments later with a bottle of Jim Beam and two lowball glasses. Dorian splashed a little in a glass which he handed to John and splashed a lot in the glass he kept for himself. Dorian took a huge sip and felt the whiskey burn all the way down. Good, he thought, the pain was good. 

 

He took a deep breath and leaned against the doorway to the bedroom. “My wife’s name was Sarah. We were high school sweethearts, I was the quarterback of the football team and she was a cheerleader. Cliche, right? We got married two weeks after graduation and I enlisted in the Army a week after that.”

 

John sat quietly trying to picture this in his mind.

 

After another healthy swallow, Dorian continued. “I was in basic training when I got the news that Sarah was pregnant. I’ve never been so happy in my life. I got leave to be there when the baby was born, a little girl we named Elizabeth after my grandmother, she’s the one who raised me. Anyway, after that I was shipped to Iraq, then there was Ranger School, a second tour in Iraq, blah, blah, blah,” Dorian said, his hand speaking the “blahs.” He tilted back his glass and finished off the amber liquid, quickly pouring himself more.   
“Want more John?” Dorian asked.

 

“No, man I’m good.”

 

“Come on, can’t drink alone here, drink up John.”

 

John held his glass up in salute, “Sl`ainte” he said and downed the contents.

 

Dorian stumbled a bit walking back to John and spilled a little as he refilled John’s glass. “Sit man, take a load off,” John said. Surprisingly, Dorian did just that, setting the bottle on the floor, he climbed into bed behind John and pulled John back to rest against his chest. 

 

“His name was Brian,” Dorian said, “he was a medic from Boston. We met in the mess tent one night and talked back and forth about baseball, his Sox and my O’s, told him about Sarah and Lizzie, he wasn't married and didn't have a sweetheart back home.” Dorian paused, brought his glass up for another swallow.

 

John had no idea where this was going, but he could hear the pain in Dorian’s voice. He reached out for Dorian’s hand and held on.

 

“Annnnnyway,” Dorian slurred, “betcha can’t guess what happens next?”

 

“What happened?”

 

“I fell in love, John.” Dorian sighed, leaned forward glancing a small kiss off the back of John’s neck.

 

John shivered, “Tell me about him.”

 

“He had dark hair, darker than yours, dark like the midnight sky, beautiful brown eyes, he was tall,” Dorian sighed, wishing he could make the picture come in more clearly. “We were friends, best friends, nothing happened in camp John, too much risk of getting caught. We took leave together in Paris and I never saw the Eiffel Tower.” Dorian started to cry, his breath came in great gasps.

 

John turned and took Dorian’s glass from his hand and set it along with his own on the floor. He swung himself around so that he was facing Dorian, placing his hands on either side of Dorian’s face he leaned in and brushed a kiss across Dorian’s lips. “Finish it,” he whispered.

 

“You know what happened that day, John, all those people who died, all those people I couldn't save. The world was exploding again and again…again. I was hit,” Dorian paused, leaned forward and took his shirt off. A jagged scar wound its way down Dorian’s chest. John traced it lightly with a finger, then leaned forward to kiss his way from beginning to end, wishing his lips could heal.

 

“When I got back to base, I looked for Brian, couldn't find him anywhere, until I checked the makeshift morgue.”

 

“Jesus Christ, Dorian” John whispered, tears forming and falling.

 

“They gave me medals John, FUCKIN medals for bravery, for valor and I couldn't save, couldn't protect the only man I loved. I took their god-dammed medals and came home. I was a ghost around this house, John. I had been gone so long, felt like I didn't belong here. I was moody, drunk all the time, a real asshole, spent all my time on my laptop re-reading emails and chat transcripts Brian had written. I had an appointment one day with the VA and when I got home, there were suitcases in the hall, packed and ready to go. Sarah had hacked into my computer, had read everything, worse, she destroyed it all, smashed the computer to bits, scored the hard drive with scissors. Everything was gone John, everything I had left of Brian was gone. Sarah looked at me like I was revolting to her, told me how much she hated my fuckin guts, that she’d wished I’d died over there. Called me a fuckin fa-“

 

“Don’t,” John begged, pressing the pad of his thumb to Dorian’s lips, “Don’t say it,” he whispered, replacing his thumb with his lips.

 

“I lost it, John, completely lost my temper. She was yelling these things in my face, these hateful ugly words and I had to make her stop, needed to get away from her. So, I shoved her, she stumbled backward a few steps and fell onto the floor. I had never hit a woman before in my life John, took an oath to protect the weak, the innocent. She told me I would never see my daughter again and I haven’t.” Dorian said quietly.

 

“I’m so sorry Dorian,” John whispered, holding him close, “so fuckin sorry.” All John could do was hold on and pray it was enough.

 

@@@@

 

“Why did you keep this from me?” John asked, some time later. They were tangled together, Dorian’s head on John’s chest.

 

“I cheated on my wife with another man, broke my vows, broke up my family, and physically assaulted my wife. Those things aren't exactly points in my favor, John.”

 

“Bullshit,” John mumbled against Dorian’s hair. “We both know what it’s like over there. The long hours of being constantly on alert for the worst to happen, sitting around waiting to die or fight or die fighting. We’re all looking for a connection, someone who understands and can be there when it all comes tumbling down. I get that, man, I really do. We all need comfort. And as for the rest, fuck it, everyone is entitled to a bad day.” He trailed his fingers down Dorian’s neck and across his shoulders, heard Dorian sigh, felt his body shiver. “Besides,” John whispered, “love is love no matter how you slice it, no matter who is in it, it’s just love, it’s a gift… a treasure.”

 

“Can you forgive me, John for keeping this from you?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“NOPE?” Dorian asked raising his head to stare at John.

 

“I can’t forgive you, because there’s nothin to forgive, darlin. This was your story to tell and you had to tell it in your own time and in your own way. You just have to promise me one thing.”

 

“Anything John.”

 

“Promise not to freeze me out like that again. I can’t take it…please.”

 

Freeze, Dorian thought…snow, John’s nightmare was about freezing to death in a blizzard. Fuck. “I promise John, I promise.” He leaned forward and sealed his vow with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Dorian's story to tell, I'm just along for the ride. Excuse the language, Dorian's ex-wife should be horsewhipped for using that word...


End file.
